#down bad ling

[somepsychopomp]

Come Home To Me pt. 1

i still feel so fucking insane right now. Today I drafted the first chapter of my Edling royal marriage fic where Ling is down insanely badly and wants to have Ed all to himself. i'd make up a better summary if my brain wasn't a withered husk rn but i did my best. This and future updates will probs be posted to my ao3.

Excerpt:

“Edward Elric,” Shen repeated, stroking his beard, “For what purpose must we seek him out?”

The Emperor’s smile widened. “I’m going to make him my Empress, of course.”

(word count: 4,442)

+++

Edward was glad to be returning to Resembool. 

The day was beautiful, the sky clear and brilliant blue. The rolling fields passed by his train window as he ached for a hot meal at Granny’s table. 

He was tired after a long stint of nonstop field world, and in heavy need of some deep cleaning on his automail, but couldn’t be happier. He had a suitcase stuffed full of research notes and plenty of good anecdotes to share. He didn’t yet know if he’d publish his findings, but he had someone looking forward to seeing them. 

Ed had spent the last four months in the northeasternmost fringes of Amestris, basically living out in the desert with minimal contact with civilization. He wasn’t opposed to the hard work, though. Not when the potential knowledge was so tantalizing. 

He functioned as the alchemical expert for a group of archaeologists from Central. They found fragments of Xerxesian architecture buried in the desert and with them, signs of alchemy. When Ed arrived at the site, it was little more than a bunch of holes dug into the heavy sand and some scraps of stone the archaeologists and their students found.

Ed turned an archaeological graveyard into an oasis. He found the proof that approximately nine centuries ago, Xerxes had a small outpost near what was now the border of Amestris. The older researchers on the team proposed it was a trading hub or colony. Ed had reason to believe it was some kind of remote lab, so experimental alchemy could be conducted safely away from the main populace of Xerxes. 

He wasn’t going to stick around long enough to fight for his point, though. He’d seen what he’d wanted to see and learned what he set out to learn. He was going to be proven right, eventually. So it didn’t matter if he stuck around or not. Even though Ed had done his part and even though the majority team begged him to stay on, promising him additional pay, he knew it was time to come home.  

Alphonse would already be waiting for him, after all. And it’d been almost ten months since they'd last seen each other. 

Ed felt the little warm flurry in his chest grow with excitement. Yeah, they were both adults now, it felt natural for them to want to do their own things. And they did, planning their own trips in pursuit of their individual interests. But they were still brothers and he couldn’t wait to see Alphonse again. 

Not that he’d ever admit it to Al’s face, but Ed still kept a beaten up copy of Alphonse’s first published research paper in the lining of his suitcase, ready to shove it into the face of anyone who dared to not call Alphonse Elric the greatest alchemist currently alive. 

And admittedly, doing so made Ed feel painfully like the late Maes Hughes. Maybe he finally understood why a man would be possessed to carry documentation of his family everywhere he went. 

But that was all behind him now. As all things came to an end, so did his voyage. The train pulled into the station and Ed jumped off the very second he was able to, hauling his heft suitcase in one arm as he ran for the waiting figure on the platform. 

“Brother!” 

Ed smiled. The two of them embraced and it really did feel like coming home. 

“I didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?”

Alphonse laughed. He looked about the same as before their split. Still so tall, still so strongly built. A happy far cry from the emaciated body Ed pulled out of the gate. It was insane, how Alphonse looked so much like their dad now. And he imagined that when Al looked at him, he saw Hohenheim in Ed’s face, too. As much as Ed was loath to imagine it. 

Al kept his hair short as well, while Ed’s had only gotten longer and longer. Alphonse noticed, of course he did, and waved around the end of Ed’s braid. 

“Are you ever going to cut this thing?”

“Never.”

Trisha Elric had long hair, so Edward Elric had long hair. Though maybe at this point, his was longer than even hers had been. It was getting hard to remember now. In his faint and watercolored childhood memories, it didn’t matter how long his hair was because hers always seemed longer. He was sure if he looked at one of Granny’s old photos of her, he’d see differently. 

Funny, how the mind played tricks like that. 

Alphonse tried and failed to take Ed’s suitcase as they walked to the Rockbell household. Ed swatted his hand away. 

“Just let me carry it, Al. It’s heavy.” 

“That’s more reason why I should take it. You’ve lugged it across the countryside, why don’t you let yourself rest for once?”

Ed blew the stray hairs from his eyes. Maybe his bangs could do with a trim, at least. He’d have to see if Granny or Al would be willing to take up the scissors for him, Ed didn’t trust himself enough to make it look halfway decent. 

The two of them chatted about nothing in particular, saving their best stories for when they could put their feet up and enjoy a drink together. Or at least that’s what Ed thought was happening, but he couldn’t help but notice Al was relaying details about minute town gossip with more enthusiasm than expected. 

“Everything alright, Al?”

“Of course, why do you ask?”

Ed shot him a sideways grin. “You’re a shit liar. What’s up?”

Al huffed and puffed but eventually, Ed needled the truth out of him. 

“Well, we’ve got company, actually. They’ve been in town for a few days already. And once they found out I was picking you up from the train station, they insisted on seeing you today.”

“Huh?” Ed scoured his cramped head for any plan he might’ve missed. Did someone he know say they were coming to visit? He asked, “Who is it?”

Al smiled, mischievous in his own right. “You’ll see.”

That made Ed wonder if it was someone from the military. Probably not the newly-promoted Brigadier General Bastard, so maybe someone else?

When they arrived, he didn’t see an extra car outside. On the porch, Ed did his best to shake the sand out of his coat pockets and boots before stepping inside. Immediately, he was hit with the fusion scent of coffee and motor oil. Tension he didn’t even know he was carrying drained out of his body as Ed called out, “I’m back!” 

No click-clack of mismatched paws came running in response. It was still hard to remember that Den wasn’t around to greet them at the door anymore. 

Ed left his suitcase by the door as Al led him into the kitchen, where Granny was sitting at the table with a grouchy looking old man and a young woman with dark hair. They all turned to look at him and it felt like an electric current was sent through his entire body. No way… 

“Lan Fan!” 

She still had the same sharp, dark eyes that Ed remembered from when they were younger. She stood, her expression lighting up at the sight of Ed. 

“Edward Elric!” 

She bowed for him, which felt downright silly. They went so far back, after all. And if Lan Fan was here…

“What are you doing on this side of the desert? Where's Ling? Is he with you?”

The old man cleared his throat and stood. He looked like the kind of guy Ed could easily imagine in the upper echelons of the military or a Xingese court: gray hair and beard, humorless expression, one hand wrapped tight around the curved handle of an ornate, darkwood cane. He was wrapped in loose, emerald green robes while Lan Fan was dressed how Ed remembered her. All black. 

“It is my obligation to accept questions and negotiations on the Emperor’s behalf,” the old man said. He spoke in an extremely thick Xingese accent, but enunciated his words with care. He shot Lan Fan a look, “Is it not?”

Ed’s mood soured slightly. Whoever the old fart was, he wasn’t interested. 

And yet, the old man said, “I am His Majesty’s most senior adviser, Yao Shen. I was sent at His Majesty’s request to locate one Edward Elric and deliver a message.”

To me? Ed wondered. 

The last time he spoke to Ling was when they were teenagers. The idea of trying to contact him again crossed Ed’s mind over the years, admittedly much more than once. After all, Alphonse kept in contact with Mei. He’d even made several trips across the desert to see her and study alkahestry in Xing. 

But Ling just felt so different. He got crowned as Emperor when he was seventeen! And Ed remembered so well how news swept across Amestris of the child king in Xing, who apparently went on a sojourn through their country only a year prior to his coronation. Ed just had no idea how he could ever reach across the world to someone like that. 

So he never did, as cowardly as it was. And seven whole years had gone by since they were a pair of teenagers fighting to save the world. Ed was twenty-two now and thought his chance to see Ling again, no matter how slim, was gone. 

But now Ling’s closest and most loyal vassal was in his kitchen. With a weird old man to boot.  

“Yes, yes. We’re all here for one reason or another,” a new voice said. Ed looked over to see Granny stirring a big pot on the stove. She said, “But all of that can wait. It’s supper time and my boys must be hungry.”

Lan Fan didn’t seem to be in any rush. And if she wasn’t treating this like it was urgent, it probably wasn’t. The five of them sat down at the table, where Ed got to eat a heaping bowl of Granny’s famous beef stew with fresh bread. For a few glorious minutes, he forgot he was being a poor host by not participating in the conversation while he stuffed his mouth. 

Subsisting off of dry rations for four months left one starved for flavor.

Once he had some proper food in his belly, he finally took note of Lan Fan’s arm. It had the super polished look of someone who’d just seen a mechanic, not like Ed’s brushed metal limbs.

“You’ve been taking good care of your automail,” he said. 

Lan Fan smiled. She held out her hand to let it catch in the light. “Your grandmother has been generous enough to do some maintenance on my arm these past few days.”

“Is that right?” Ed asked. He didn’t even bother to correct her, that Granny wasn’t related by blood. It still surprised him. Ed knew Granny was partially retired these days; she didn’t take on new clients anymore, just did repairs and cleanings. 

He was glad she agreed to take a look at Lan Fan. Xing, as he was told, sorely lacked automail mechanics. Too bad Winry was up to her ears in work in Rush Valley, he knew she would’ve loved to ogle at a good arm. 

Granny said, “As someone who’s seen my fair share of automail in all sorts of shapes and states, it’s my professional recommendation that you have yours examined by a mechanic at least once a year.”

“That is simply not possible, given her immense obligations,” Shen said. 

Ed and Al shot each other a knowing look. Why on earth was Lan Fan traveling with this old fart? 

“The Emperor sends for an Amestrian mechanic whenever my arm becomes too damaged to operate,” Lan Fan said, as simple as if she was commenting on the weather. 

Ed stared at her, mouth agape. As someone who’d gotten into far too many fights to count over the course of his life, some of which ended up in his automail getting completely shattered, he wondered what kind of things Lan Fan had endured in recent years. 

And by extension, what all that meant for Ling. Ling, who was not here but felt the need to send Lan Fan in his stead. 

Lan Fan turned to Ed and Al. “Now, tales of your exploits have been reaching Xing for years, but it’s often impossible to tell what’s fiction and what’s fact. I would love to know what the Elric brothers have actually been doing since we last crossed paths.”

It was a little hard to tell if she was actually interested or just changing the subject. Ed didn’t press either way. Alphonse, either by using some secret telepathic power or just knowing how Ed operated, stopped him from running to get his copy of Al’s research. He instead gave a summarized version of his studies on combining alchemy and alkahestry. 

As their bowls ran empty, Ed figured it was time to broach the subject of why they had guests at all. 

“So what’s the message meant just for me?” he asked, bracing an elbow on the table. 

Shen seemed unphased. “Unfortunately, it directly involves the security of our Emperor and must be delivered in private.”

“Oh?”

Ed turned to Lan Fan. Up until now, she seemed warm and inviting, a huge difference from her stoic self he first met. But even she shook her head. 

“I must agree. It can only be given in complete secrecy.”

Ed resisted the urge to grin. Whatever it was, he could easily imagine Ling landed himself in some sort of trouble and needed help from the former Fullmetal Alchemist. Ed might’ve quit the military and lost his ability to do alchemy, but he was still a force to be reckoned with. 

“Fine, then. I know where we can talk.”

Bidding Al and Granny a temporary goodbye, Ed led his two guests out of the house and up a dirt path. The sun was starting to set now, just touching the horizon and bathing everything in blinding gold. The air here was warm but not dry like the desert. It was damp and full of life. 

Ed guided them up a hill as the ruins of his childhood home loomed ever larger. He didn’t stop when they reached the derelict structure, stepping over scorched wood beams and the old stone foundation, leading them into the heart of his family’s house. 

“What is this place?” Lan Fan asked. 

Ed stopped just short of the stone stairs that led to the basement. No one in Resembool came up here. Maybe they were too afraid to, maybe it was a sign of respect. He noticed that no signs of vandalism or graffiti cropped up over the years. 

He put his hands in his coat pockets and said, “This was my home when I was a child. Now why don’t you answer me this, what did you come all this way to tell me?”

+++

The order from her Emperor to travel to Amestris without him was quite a shock to Lan Fan when she first received it. Not to mention His Imperial Majesty wanted her to guide Advisor Shen. He was so old, she honestly thought this could’ve been a ploy to have him perish in the desert to finally be rid of him.

The old man wasn’t happy about it either, even though he did his best to conceal it. 

Alone in a private audience with the Emperor, he bowed profusely and repeatedly while asking, “A thousand pardons, my Emperor. But what exactly do you wish an old man like myself to achieve in Amestris?”

Shen was a spoiled member of the Yao clan’s lesser nobility who used to be a close personal friend of Ling’s father. He climbed considerable heights by constantly praising the last Emperor, only to now find himself serving a much younger man with no interest in keeping his father’s past friends wealthy. 

It was rare that Lan Fan was ever out in the open too, but as her Emperor specifically wanted an audience with her as well, she stood side by side with the old adviser. 

His Majesty smiled serenely at Shen. “Your task in Amestris is to seek out Fullmetal Alchemist Edward Elric. Lan Fan is to escort you, seeing as she’s one of the… maybe two or three Xingese citizens who actually knows what he looks like.”

If she could speak freely, Lan Fan might have protested as well. She could never leave her Lord vulnerable, even if he did have other guards and the entire Imperial army at his disposal now. 

He cast his gaze upon her, expectant. She knew precisely why he wanted to find Edward Elric. She was perhaps the only person in the world who knew, who he trusted to know.  

And she took that trust very seriously. It was not her place to approve or disapprove of his desires, only to see them fulfilled. 

“Edward Elric,” Shen repeated, stroking his beard, “For what purpose must we seek him out?”

The Emperor’s smile widened. “I’m going to make him my Empress, of course.”

Lan Fan was staring straight ahead when he said so, arms on her knees as she knelt and awaited further instructions. But she would have loved to see Shen’s face if his startled, haggard coughing fit was anything to go by. 

His Majesty’s smile grew terse. “Something the matter, Shen?”

“Oh, well… I- I cannot… my Lord…”

“You cannot what? Condone my decision? You object, is that it?”

“No, no! I would never, your Imperial Majesty!”

He grew silent as the Emperor stood, his silken robes falling around his powerful frame. He descended the steps of his throne and Shen once more pressed his forehead to the floor in subservience. 

“Stand up.”

They both did so. 

The Emperor produced his right hand from the length of his robes and pulled a golden ring from his finger. It was newly made, polished to a mirror shine.

“Shen, you will take this ring and guard it well. When you find Edward Elric, you will hold my ring up to his image. And when you do, remember which is more impressive.”

+++

Yao Shen only ever wanted to live comfortably. And for many decades, he did exactly that. He wore nice clothing of moderate detail, had multiple sons, kept his head low in court, and was rewarded with a lifetime of servility by being named a chief advisor in the imperial court. Now, however, he thought he might just reach his end. In a foreign land surrounded by alien peasants, no less. 

Because his Emperor was correct. Edward Elric was more splendid than gold. 

At first, he hadn’t been happy at all to make the trip across the desert. He bitterly cursed his ill fortune under his breath, knowing full well His Majesty’s dog was his sole traveling companion. Then it was a matter of locating the insignificant village that the famed Fullmetal Alchemist came from. And even then, they could not rest until they found Edward himself. 

And when they did finally see him in person, Shen had not been very impressed. Edward Elric was clothed like a simple traveler, in plain garments and a rugged red coat. No silk, no gold, no silver. His boots were caked in dirt and his gloves were stained a reddish brown from the desert. His complexion was less than fair, his face tanned by the sun to a degree that most matchmakers would deem unacceptable.

Not to mention the fact that the boy referred to His Imperial Majesty, the Son of Heaven, by his given name! Had that mistake slipped anyone’s lips within Xing, they’d be executed. 

But everything changed when he saw Edward Elric in the sunlight. 

In the glow of the setting sun, Edward Elric looked like a lion. His long blond hair framed his face and reached his lower back. Shen was aware that it was common in Amestris for men to keep their hair short, as preposterous as it was. One’s body was a gift from their parents and to cut any part of it was to disrespect them. Edward Elric had very respectable long hair. 

And his eyes. The palace menagerie kept a host of exotic animals, including actual lions. The Fullmetal Alchemist had the eyes of a fierce and unflinching warrior, so bright and piercing. It was clear he’d seen and won many battles, but he wasn’t a brute, either. No, his were a set of dangerously intelligent eyes. 

It wasn’t necessary, Shen knew when he’d been defeated, but he could never deny an order from his Emperor. So he reached into his pocket and produced a small bundle of cloth. With trembling fingers, he unwrapped the golden ring entrusted to him and held it up to Edward Elric.

Both shined with a sort of blinding brilliance, as if the sun itself wished to pour all its warmth over the boy’s shoulders. He perfectly matched the descriptions of the Great Sage of the West, the founder of alkahestry. Any dignitary worth their salt would know what an auspicious sign this was… and that the young Emperor tragically chose his future concubine well. Very well. 

+++

Ed blinked, going cross-eyed as something small was held in front of his face. He leaned back, seeing that it was a golden ring. Thick and heavy-looking, too. 

“Uh…”

He moved to reach for the ring, unsure if that was what they wanted, but the old man simply tucked it back into his pocket. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for humoring an old man. Lan Fan, tell him.”

Was it just his imagination, or was she smiling ever so faintly? 

She stepped forward and said, “His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Xing will be arriving in Amestris in three days for a diplomatic mission. He will be arriving in Central City to speak with your Fuhrer and parliament and is scheduled to remain in your country for fifteen days. While he is here, he wishes to see you again.”

Lan Fan produced a small package from a pouch in her belt and presented it with both hands. “He asked me to give you this gift as a token of his earnestness.”

Ling wanted to see him?

Lightheaded, Ed accepted the gift. It wasn’t heavy at all.

Lan Fan raised her brows. Open it. 

So he undid the twine wrapping. It wasn’t what he expected, not that he had any idea what it could be. Ed held up the length of silk to the light. It was a long, thin strip of crimson cloth embroidered with gold. It was beautiful. He didn’t know what it could possibly be for, but he appreciated it. After all, 

Ling remembers me…

“Tell me something,” Ed said, running his fingers over the cloth, amazing as how smooth it was, “How has he been, all these years?”

“He has been well, thank you for your concern,” Lan Fan said. “He is looking forward to having your company once more.”

+++

Once Shen was excused from the throne room and it was just the two of them, Ling didn’t feel like sending Lan Fan back to her post as his invisible hand. He needed a friend right now. 

Sighing, he said, “It’s been a long time, Lan Fan.”

She nodded. “It has.”

Almost a decade had gone by since they last saw Edward Elric. 

He thumbed at the hem of his robe, thinking. “What if I’m too late?”

“You must not lose hope, your Majesty. He is still not married. Even if there was someone standing in your way, what real threat could they pose to you?”

He nodded, thankful as ever for her steadfastness. Unlike his endless officials, servants, and his stupid siblings all vying for his favor, Lan Fan had earned it long ago. He respected her opinion far more than many of theirs, as well. And if she had faith in him, perhaps that was a good sign. 

He wandered over to the windows behind his throne, whose light reflected off his gilded ceiling and his crimson pillars. The imperial palace sprawled before him, more wealthy than any other country he knew of. 

What would Edward think of it all if he could see it now?

He was going to see it, Ling reminded himself. He’d waited long enough, now was the time to finally act. 

The last time they saw each other was as children at the tender age of fifteen. Ling’s father held onto his throne for little over a year by no small miracle, but of all his brothers and sisters, it was him who was crowned successor before he was even an adult. 

He spent the first few years of his reign cementing his rule and keeping his country stable as power changed hands. He protected the Chang clan from extinction, elevated his own, improved trade and relations to the east, and chose peace treaties over war declarations. Now he was turning his efforts into improving relations with the west. 

The common folk such as his farmers and merchants loved him too, he made sure of it. Edward was born of common blood, after all. And he was famous across the world for his efforts to help those that could not help themselves. 

If he could, he would send Lan Fan to seek out Edward alone. She’d do it in half the time if she didn’t have a bag of bones tethered to her. Even though Yao Shen was a member of their own clan, Ling never really liked him. He was slow to adapt and too haughty for his age. But he was also a valuable pawn. Given his seniority among palace staff, if Ling could convince him that Edward was worth more than his weight in gold, the rest of his courts would follow suit without any effort on Ling’s part at all. 

Yes, convincing his people was the easy part. The least predictable element in all his plans was Edward himself. Unsurprising, but Ling wouldn’t have it any other way. 

At the age of twenty-two, he felt so old yet still so impossibly young. He knew he had a whole life ahead of him yet, but could not find it in himself to wait a moment longer. 

He closed his eyes and made a promise to himself. No going back from this point, no more waiting. He was going to have an Empress, this he knew since he was fifteen. 

So no matter the cost, Yao Ling was going to have Edward Elric.

[beanghostprincess]

Okay, so I haven't watched all of FMAB yet, but I love how Ed is so fucking oblivious. He got a gorgeous girl, way smarter than him and out of everybody's league, who plays with the cord of the telephone when they speak together because she's down bad and laughs softly when he talks. And he's like "yeah, yeah, well, I am glad you're alive haha I thought they were going to brutally fucking murder you today. So that's a relief. Bye, super best friend in the world" and hangs up like the moron he is. But not only that, because well, they can't see each other so I get he doesn't notice the crush in Winry's voice, BUT LING?????? Dude has been with that prince inside a guy's stomach and has carried him around and cooked him his boot and yelled at him for giving up because he can't leave somebody as ambitious as him there without accomplishing what he wants, and then he says some gay bullshit like "Ling is still in there" after looking at Greed's eyes ONCE. One thing is not realizing a girl is crushing on you but Oh my God Edward for fuck's sake get a clue and realize you like men-

[tea-cat-arts]

You know what, I've read enough fanfic. I'm confiscating Madame Yu from you guys

Free my girl- she did the things she's being accused of, but not as frequently or severely as the fandom pretends, her actions are being taken out of context, and her depth is being reduced to that of a Colleen Hoover antagonist

[dramashii]

See you.

THE PRINCESS ROYAL (2024) | Ep 28

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

《山河令》 WORD OF HONOR (2021) | Episode 20

Dear, the kiss that steals your breath Will steal your soul instead When night is all that's left So wait, keep your heart inside My hand won't keep it safe I'll just feed on dreams and smile as hope slowly dies –The Rigs, Run Baby Run

[raddestrose]

I wanna learn the Link Click hand dance SO BAD

[nerditudes]

@loyaltyforged for Ling: She’s here to quickly and quietly lecture him about relinquishing control of his body to a stranger. “This is what happens with you give your body to a homunculus — they forget how to eat and die from a lousy dumpling!! Young lord, this isn’t like Ratatouille!!”

"Oh come on-- Greed just needs to learn!" Ling was swift to jump to the defense of his homonculus. Despite his best efforts to simply see things as business, the bastard had grown on him. So much so that Ling spent a majority of his time resting, letting Greed take control of their form.

"He won't get me killed, have some faith in our avaricious ally!"

[robyntherav3n]

tsubaki straight asf i would have immediately crumbled if litchi invited me to her place

[flockofdoves]

i always go on about wanting everyone to get into black sails but actually when it comes down to it maybe i just want everyone in the world to get into phonetics and phonology so we can get into the weird minutiae of dialectal variation and speech production and our personal experiences thereof in day to day conversations together. its literally so cool

[greenorangevioletgrass]

this is gonna haunt me in my dreams. tashi, you truly are evil. and when he mentioned the patrick thing with his hand between your thigh?? shiiiiiiit. also the hanging your jeans over the car door is so silly but so on point? man, im getting shivers just reading this. thank you <333

strategic manoeuvre.

— WITH…ART DONALDSON!

contains...babysitter!reader, age gap, 18+ MDNI, art cheats w reader but it is lowkey implied that tashi planned the whole thing, car sex, semi-public sex, head (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, inspired by this post from @traumatrios

You had never been interested in tennis before Art. 

You weren’t interested in sports at all, really — you just wanted to buckle down and focus on your college work, earn some money with an easy part-time job. You didn’t have time to follow sports, or anything else. 

But then you got a call. You had been in the middle of a lecture when your phone buzzed against your notebook, a California number shining up at you and enticing you to pick up. Normally you would’ve let it go to voicemail, but you had recently gone around some of the fancier hotels in your city with flyers, asking for babysitting jobs and posting your number, so you excused yourself with a wave and took the call in the hallway. 

You didn’t know who Tashi Donaldson was when she introduced herself, but the hotel she’d asked you to come to later that night was fancy enough that you didn’t question it. You had done an extensive google search afterwards, of course, but simply raised an impressed brow at her repertoire. 

Then you met Art, her tennis player husband and the father of the lovely little girl you would be taking care of, and suddenly you were pretty interested in tennis. 

It started when Lily had a bad nightmare and you couldn’t get her down — well, it started when you met the guy, palm sweaty in his own as he introduced himself, but it didn’t really start until you had to put one of his old games on the TV for the girl to watch until she fell asleep at your side, tear tracks from her bad dream dry on her cheeks. 

You had been planning on carrying her back to her bed when she was down for the count, but you had been so fixated on Art’s movements; his determined look, his arms, his legs, that you ended up dropping out too. You woke up a few hours later with a blanket over your body and Art standing quietly at the kitchen island behind the sofa. 

“You looked peaceful. Didn't wanna wake you.” He’d said, sipping at his tea, and you knew you were done for. 

Now all of a sudden you had time to watch a tennis match in the morning, play one as background noise while you studied. You had started following his tennis journey right from the Junior Open in 2006 — you didn’t think you'd ever actually see him again, but you could fantasise about it whenever you remembered the smell of his cologne as he thanked you for taking care of Lily, promising a big tip would go straight into your account in the morning. 

(The money went in fifteen minutes after you’d left).

It came as a pleasant surprise when Tashi’s number popped up on your screen once more, a few months later. You had been in your kitchen, and took the call the moment you recognised the digits. 

“We’re a little ways out of town.” She’d said, “But Lily raved about you for days after last time, and we know you better than a stranger. If you can’t make it out here, don’t worry, but we still wanted to try our luck.”

We she’d said. As in her and Art. 

You cursed yourself for lusting after a married man in the uber to the hotel. 

From then on out, you became their primary babysitter. Since they travelled a lot, and Tashi’s mom was with them most of the time, you only really sat for them once every couple of months. The town you lived in was sunny and had a huge private sports centre for professional athletes — a fact you weren’t aware of until Art told you over a cup of tea — so they always came back. You were glad you could count on them coming back — it was like magic, the way your phone lit up with Tashi’s now saved contact whenever the late night bingeing of matches and interviews stopped fueling your infatuation. 

The guilt was almost enough to make you ignore it, say you were busy or just get a new number all together. But you never did. As much as you knew it was wrong, you always dropped what you were doing and drove to that cushy hotel where the receptionist knew your face and let you in with a smile. You travelled that same memorised route to the master suite, knocked on the door and made sure you were standing far enough away from the peep hole that you didn’t look weird and distorted when Art would look through before letting you in. 

It was always Art now. Tashi had greeted you a few times but lately it had always been him — a sick part of you thought she might’ve known about your crush on him, played with it for fun because she couldn’t play tennis anymore. But that was crazy, and you really needed to sort yourself out. 

You would greet him with a smile, push through the small talk, lean up against the kitchen island and watch his shirt stretch around the planes of his back as he made you coffee (On those unlucky days he would be wearing a shirt. Sometimes he would be just done with warm ups and physio and would answer the door half naked and covered in sweat. Those were the good days). Then Lily would come running at you from her room, hug you around your waist and pull you in to play; Art would laugh and grin at you, sliding the coffee cup in your direction and holding your eyes before heading to his room to get ready. 

You would be knee deep in headless barbies and chewed up polly pocket clothes when he and would return, dressed up and ready to go. He would lean down, kiss Lily on the forehead, and press his hand to your back in a silent goodbye. Then he would leave, and you would spend the whole day trying to pull yourself together. 

He was married. He was ten years older than you. He had a child, and was paying you to look after her. 

But he always made you coffee when you arrived — just how you liked it because he remembered. He always checked in on you, asked you how your life was while you nursed the mug that was warm from the beverage and his hands. He would tell Lily to behave for you because We like her, and we don’t want to scare her off. He would let his land linger on your back half a second longer every single time he left. 

But.

But Tashi was the one who would call you. She was the one who made you coffee the first time, told you it was the least they could do for you. She would walk out of her room with Art, smile at you and tell you how beautiful you look in that shirt. She would grin at you before leaving, waiting patiently by the door for her husband to take his hand off your back. 

You were evil. Truly. The guy was married. 

But as evil as you were, you always made sure there was an old game of his playing on the TV when they would return — because then Art would prompt you to stay and listen to him talk about it. And you would have an excuse to lean up against that island and watch him make tea while Tashi excused herself to bed. Hours would pass before he was checking his watch and hissing out an apology for keeping you so late, and then letting you leave. 

The first couple of times he’d simply make sure you got in your uber safely. Then he started calling cars himself, the same ones that would drive him and his family to and from matches, press events. The same sort of service celebrites used, not their babysitters. You didn’t mind — it was a thrill, listening to him ask the person behind the wheel to make sure you got back safely.

(The bar was under the court at this point, but at least you were aware of that).

But tonight was different. In more ways than one. 

In the beginning, all was the same. You were left sitting on the plush carpet of Lily’s room surrounded by lego pieces, a burning in your gut and guilt in your heart. You played doctor, you made dinner, ordered room service after her relentless begging, put on a movie, carried her sleeping form to bed, came back and watched Art play tennis until he returned. 

You had started to run out of games to watch, ones you hadn’t already seen, so settled for an old game from 2006. He was playing against his old partner, Patrick something, and you wondered where the lesser known second half of Fire and Ice had disappeared to after that night. 

Then Art came back, Tashi right behind him, and you smiled at them both over the back of the sofa. Tashi watched the game, something unfamiliar glinting in her irises, before blinking back at Art, “I’m going to bed.”

He responded a little slower, kissing her goodnight and looking back at you, “Tea? This game was one of my most memorable.”

“Even though you lost?” You teased, leaning against the marble. 

He paused, looking back at you. He blinked, “Yeah.”

You drank your tea. You pretended like you weren’t full of shame for standing that inch closer to him. You let him talk until he had nothing left to talk about, and watched him check his watch. You waited for him to pick up the phone and call the car — only he paused by the phone, hand floating just before it, and retracted his steps to the kitchen, “I’m gonna drive you back, if it’s not too much trouble. Saves waking up my driver.”

“Oh.” Your fingers twitched, and you told them to stop. “Sure, of course.” 

Art’s car wasn’t what you had expected. Thinking back on it, he didn’t seem like the sports car type, but his status and riches led you to assume you were about to get into one of the two seats in his Bugatti — you didn’t. The black jeep was expensive enough for someone like him, but close enough to home that you didn’t feel like an outsider climbing into the passenger seat.  

The drive wasn’t all that far — twenty minutes both ways, so Art would’ve been back before Tashi fell asleep if he hadn't pulled into a parking lot five minutes out. 

Your lips parted, eyes following his hands as they slid slowly off the wheel and into his thighs. His chest rose with a deep breath and his jaw constricted when he swallowed. Then he was looking at you, eyes piercing. 

“Lily likes you.”

You were unsure, feet shifting beneath you, the sound encasing the silence of the space and forcing you to stop and blink, “I’m glad. I like her.” 

“Tashi likes you.” 

You weren’t too positive that she would like you if she could feel how you were feeling now — that all too familiar heartbeat pulsing between your legs with every one of Art’s breaths. 

“I like you.” He finished, tilting his head until his temple rested softly on the headrest of his seat. His smile was almost taunting when he undid his seatbelt, “Which is your favourite?”

“What?”

“The games.” He clarified, knowing his question was too broad and that you would have to ask, “The ones you watch every time you’re over. The ones I assume you watch even when you aren’t sitting for us. My games. Which is your favourite?” 

“Oh. Um —“ Slightly distracted by the way he shed his jacket, dumping it in the backseat. He’d lent all the way forward to take it off and his eyes didn’t leave yours once. “I don’t know.” 

“The one you were watching tonight.” He asked then, “What’d you think of it? Honestly.” 

“Honestly?” You swallowed, mortified that you were even entertaining this, “You looked a little distracted.” 

He huffed a laugh, finally looking away and letting you breathe. It didn’t last long, because he was then getting out of the car and rounding the front of it. 

The breeze was cool when it hit you, Art blocking most of it from where he stood in the gap. His hand was still on the handle, but you were busy unbuckling your own seatbelt — the message had been received, you had crossed a line and he was kicking you out of his car. 

But when you turned, legs swinging carefully into the cold, his hand on your knee stopped you from really getting out. Your eyes snapped up to his, and you realised you had been caged — with one hand on the door and one hand on you, Art Donaldson had you right where you had been dreaming of him having you. It felt surreal. 

“My opponent. In the game from tonight.” He breathed, glancing around casually like you were having one of your simple conversations over tea. “He slept with my wife.”

Out of all the things… 

“What?” Your eyes darted between his, but the rest of your body otherwise remained still. Even when his hand on your knee travelled upwards. 

“He’d slept with her before. In college. We weren’t together then.” He was now watching his hand move, like he wasn’t the one moving it, “But then he slept with her again, in Atlanta. After I’d already married her.”

“Wow.” You breathed, mainly because it was the easiest word you could slide out of your mouth whilst holding your breath. His fingers reached your thigh, begged to dip between them. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He was quick to respond. Your legs parted on instinct, and at this point you had surrendered to being an awful person — although maybe you’d fallen asleep on the couch and this was all a dream. You didn’t think you’d be able to face Art if it was. You couldn’t even face him now. 

He took the newfound space for granted, stepping between your legs and holding them open with his body. His hand on the door followed him, taking its new place on your other leg. He rubbed up and down your thighs, but you couldn’t look away from his face. 

“I don’t want you watching him play.” He spoke lowly, tracing his fingertips around your waistband, “I’ve seen enough of his games.”

“Okay.” You didn’t hesitate to let out, swallowing the hungered saliva that had built up in your mouth. 

He unbuttoned your jeans, pulled the zipper down — painstakingly slow, but it allowed you time to brace your hands on the seat and the dashboard so you could raise your hips and let him slide them off you. 

You were stuck in your head, but Art didn’t seem to notice since he was too busy folding your jeans and hanging them over the open car door. You dared question it through a heavy breath but he just moved on to your panties, throwing them precariously on the dashboard and exposing your glittering cunt to his bright eyes. 

“We shouldn’t —“ It was a half-assed attempt at reconciling with your guilt, but the fact that you were half naked and spread eagle made it lose its meaning. 

Art shushed you, kneeling down so he was looking at your pussy, “We can, and we will.” Then he glanced back at you, brow arched, “Unless you don’t want to.”

Any sense of rationale had fucked off when he put his hand on your leg, so you swallowed and said, “I want to.”

He wasted no time, licking a thick stripe from your asshole to your clit. You knocked your head back with a gasped moan, bucking into him and hissing when the gear stick poked you in the back when you led back too far. 

You let out a shaky breath as he lapped you up, tongue dipping inside of you before travelling up to that sweet spot and sucking at it gently. You gasped and moaned, hands scrambling between holding yourself up and holding him down. His own were resting on your thighs — his calm and collected demeanour was a drastic contradiction from your own. 

His head nodded calmly between your legs, relaxed in its position — yours, shaky and tense all at once, neck bracing whenever you fell back. His hands tapped soft melodies on your skin whereas yours tightened around whatever was in their old, whether that be the leather of the seats or the blonde of Art’s hair. 

When he finally came up for air, his chin was coated in your slick, and he licked his lips clean before straightening up above you. You watched, paralysed, while he unbuckled his belt, threw it over the door with your jeans, and sent you a look under his lashes that you’d only seen him wear during his tennis matches. 

You had been keeping quiet earlier, but when he bottomed out inside you and started to piston, your mind went wild. Choruses of Oh my God and Fuck!, shouts of Art’s name and whimpers under your breath — it all came tumbling out and you couldn’t even try and stop it. 

Not that you wanted to; your vocality seemed to make him go faster, harder. It made him vocal, no longer calm and relaxed as he had been when eating you out, but loud and gruff. Grunts and moans you had dreamt about hearing outside of a television screen, now being huffed into the air you shared. 

You came with a whine and Art followed not long after, and you settled there for a moment — legs spread in his passenger seat with him standing between them — until you could muster up the strength to push yourself up. 

Five minutes later and you were both dressed, Art’s black jeep parked outside of your apartment building. You hadn’t exchanged any more words, but when you turned to slam the door once you had jumped out, you found his eyes on yours. 

“I have a game this weekend. Two hours out. Tashi wanted you to come. A gift, for all you’ve done for us.” 

(You went to the game. Art won. Tashi grinned like she’d made it happen and then offered to buy you a drink).

divider by @cafekitsune !!

[theyoungprinceling]

"Rooftop or couch? Where should I try sleeping tonight? Bed feels too hot right now, no matter what I do."

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

pregnant reader who feels insecure about her body after giving birth

༄｡° proof - rafe cameron

series masterlist

The late summer sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink as you and Rafe stood on the porch of Tanneyhill, Jojo cradled in your arms. Her little giggles filled the air as you kissed her chubby cheeks one last time, her tiny hands reaching for your face. It had been three months since she’d come into your lives, three months of sleepless nights, endless diaper changes, and a love so deep it consumed you both. But with that love came a shift—your days and nights had revolved entirely around Jojo, leaving little room for anything else. You and Rafe hadn’t had a moment alone since she was born, let alone anything resembling intimacy. Sex? That felt like a distant memory, buried under exhaustion and the quiet insecurities that had crept in after your body changed in ways you hadn’t expected.

Sarah and John B pulled up in John B’s beat-up van, the engine rumbling as they hopped out with grins that promised a night of spoiling their niece. “There’s my girl!” Sarah cooed, practically sprinting up the steps to scoop Jojo from your arms. She nuzzled her nose into Jojo’s soft hair, earning a delighted squeal. “We’ve got everything—bottles, diapers, that weird baby food she loves. You two just relax, okay?”

John B leaned against the railing, smirking at Rafe. “Yeah, man, you look like you could use a break. When’s the last time you slept more than two hours straight?” Rafe chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, but you could see the gratitude in his eyes. He handed over the diaper bag, packed with military precision, and gave John B a quick dap.

“Call us if she needs anything,” you said, your voice tinged with the familiar mom-worry that never quite went away. Sarah waved you off with a laugh.

“She’ll be fine. Go enjoy yourselves. You deserve it.” With one last wave, they piled back into the Twinkie, Jojo’s little head peeking out from Sarah’s arms as they drove off into the dusk.

The house felt eerily quiet without her, the absence of her babbling like a void you weren’t sure how to fill. Rafe closed the door behind you, turning to face you with a soft smile that made your stomach flip. “Just us,” he said, stepping closer, his hands settling on your hips. “Feels weird, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, leaning into his touch. “Good weird, though.” His thumbs brushed against your sides, and there was a spark in his eyes you hadn’t seen in months—a hunger tempered by tenderness. He leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your lips, and you melted into it, your hands sliding up his chest. But as his fingers dipped beneath the hem of your shirt, grazing the skin of your stomach, you tensed, a flicker of self-consciousness pulling you out of the moment.

Rafe noticed immediately, pulling back to look at you, his brows knitting together. “What’s wrong?” His voice was gentle, but there was an edge of concern you couldn’t ignore.

You swallowed, stepping back slightly, your arms crossing over your middle instinctively. “It’s just… I don’t look the same, Rafe. My body’s different now. Stretch marks, the extra weight… I don’t feel sexy anymore.” The words spilled out before you could stop them, raw and vulnerable, and you dropped your gaze to the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

He was quiet for a beat, and then his hands were on you again, warm and steady, guiding you gently toward the couch. He sat you down, kneeling in front of you so you had no choice but to look at him. “Hey,” he said softly, cupping your face. “You think I don’t see you? That I don’t want you? Baby, you’re more beautiful now than you’ve ever been.” His thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “You gave me Jojo. This body? It’s a fucking miracle. Every mark, every curve—I see you, and I want you so bad it hurts.”

Your breath hitched, his words sinking in, but the insecurity still lingered. “I just… I don’t feel like myself,” you whispered.

Rafe’s hands slid down to your arms, then your waist, his touch reverent. “Then let me show you,” he murmured, his voice low and coaxing. “Let me prove how much I love you—every inch of you.” He leaned in, kissing your jaw, then the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you wanted. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You needed this—needed him.

He guided you upstairs, his hand never leaving yours, and when you reached the bedroom, he turned off the harsh overhead light, leaving only the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamp. The room felt warm, intimate, the shadows dancing across the walls as he stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly with the weight of his want. He undressed you with a patience that made your chest ache, peeling away your shirt first, his fingers brushing over your shoulders as the fabric fell away. His breath caught when he saw the stretch marks on your breasts, fuller now from nursing Jojo, and he traced them with his fingertips, his touch feather-light. “These are beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick. “You’re beautiful.”

Your sweatpants came next, his hands sliding them down your thighs, taking your underwear with them in one slow, deliberate motion. You tried to cover yourself—your stomach, softer and striped with faint pale lines—but he caught your wrists, pinning them gently to your sides. “Don’t hide from me,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours, dark with desire and something deeper, something that made you feel seen. “You’re perfect.”

He stood then, shedding his own shirt, the muscles of his chest and arms flexing as he tossed it aside. His shorts followed, and when he stepped out of them, you couldn’t help but stare—the hard planes of his body, the evidence of his arousal straining against his boxers before he slid those off too. He was gorgeous, raw and real, and the way he looked at you made your insecurities waver, if only for a moment.

Rafe pulled you to the bed, laying you down gently on the cool sheets, his body hovering over yours as he kissed you again—deeply this time, his tongue sweeping against yours, coaxing a soft moan from your throat. His lips trailed lower, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your collarbone, pausing to suck lightly at the sensitive skin there until you squirmed beneath him. He moved to your breasts, his hands cupping them reverently, thumbs brushing over your nipples—still tender from feeding Jojo—before he lowered his mouth to one, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak. The sensation shot through you, a mix of pleasure and a faint ache, and you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Rafe,” you breathed, and he hummed against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. He kissed every inch of your chest, your ribs, then lower, his lips tracing the stretch marks on your stomach with a devotion that made your throat tighten. “These?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “These are proof you’re a badass. My badass.” His tongue darted out, licking a slow stripe along one of the lines, and you arched into him, heat pooling low in your belly.

He settled between your legs, parting your thighs with his hands, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he spread you open. For a moment, he just looked—his gaze hungry, reverent, taking in the slickness already gathering there, the way your body responded to him despite your doubts. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he muttered, almost to himself, before dipping his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, his faint stubble grazing your skin. He licked a slow, teasing path upward, stopping just short of where you needed him most, and you whimpered, hips lifting instinctively.

“Patience,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, but there was a tenderness in it too. When his mouth finally found you, it was gentle at first—soft kisses against your folds, his tongue flicking out to taste you, slow and deliberate. You moaned, the sound loud in the quiet room, and he groaned in response, the vibration making your toes curl. He licked you open, his tongue dragging through your wetness, circling your clit with maddening precision before sucking it gently between his lips. Your hands fisted the sheets, your back bowing as he worked you, his fingers joining in—one, then two, sliding inside you, curling just right to hit that spot that made you see stars.

“Rafe—oh God,” you gasped, your thighs trembling as he pumped his fingers, his mouth relentless, his eyes flicking up to watch you unravel. He didn’t rush you, didn’t push too hard—just built you up slowly, savoring every sound, every shudder, until you were teetering on the edge, your body begging for release.

But he pulled back, kissing his way up your body again, leaving you panting, desperate. “Not yet,” he whispered against your lips, his own slick with you, and you tasted yourself when he kissed you, deep and filthy. He shed his boxers fully then, his cock springing free—thick, hard, the tip already glistening—and you swallowed, a mix of want and nerves tightening your chest. He saw it, sensed it, and paused, his hand cupping your face. “We don’t have to,” he said, his voice soft but strained with his own need. “But I want you. All of you.”

“I want you too,” you admitted, your voice small but sure. “Just… go slow.”

He nodded, kissing you again as he lined himself up, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance, teasing, testing. He pushed in inch by inch, stretching you open, and you gasped at the fullness, the slight burn as your body adjusted. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath ragged as he held still, letting you acclimate. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Keep going.” He did, sliding deeper, his cock filling you completely until he was seated to the hilt, his hips flush against yours. For a moment, he didn’t move—just stayed there, buried inside you, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on yours.

Then he started to move—slowly at first, a gentle rock of his hips, pulling out only to ease back in, the drag of him against your walls igniting every nerve. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, and he groaned, his hands sliding under your hips to tilt you up, hitting deeper with each thrust. “So good,” he murmured, his voice rough with pleasure. “You feel so fucking good.”

The pace stayed slow, sensual—every movement deliberate, every thrust measured, like he was savoring you. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your thighs, your hips, cupping your breasts as he kissed you, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his hips. You could feel every inch of him—the heat, the hardness, the way he pulsed inside you—and it drove you wild, your body arching to meet his, your breaths mingling as you climbed together.

“Rafe,” you whimpered, your fingers digging into his back, and he shifted, one hand sliding between you to circle your clit with his thumb, the added pressure making you cry out. “I’m—I’m close.”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his thrusts deepening, his thumb relentless, and you shattered—your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your walls clenching around him, your whole body trembling as you moaned his name. He watched you through it, his eyes dark and awed, and when you started to come down, he slowed even more, dragging it out, making you feel every ripple.

He wasn’t far behind—his rhythm faltered, his groans growing louder, and with a final, deep thrust, he came, spilling inside you with a shuddering, “Fuck, baby,” his body tensing, then collapsing against you, his weight a warm, welcome press. He didn’t pull out right away, just stayed there, softening inside you, his lips brushing your temple, your jaw, your mouth.

“You’re everything,” he said after a while, his voice hoarse with emotion as he finally eased out, rolling to his side and pulling you against him. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his breath steadying against your neck. “Don’t ever doubt that.” And as you lay there, tangled in his arms, the insecurities didn’t vanish—but they faded, softened by the raw, vivid love in his touch, his gaze, the way he’d poured himself into you, body and soul.

©RAFESGREASYCURTAINBANGS ⋆˙⟡ est. 2025

[jonathankai]

Whenever I try to imagine relationship between adult Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng, it's always JC going "boo-hoo, now that he's all grown up, he will fly away from the nest and forget all about me and leave my old bones to rot as things should be" and JL going "FINALLY. FINALLY IT'S MY TURN TO FUSS OVER YOU".

Something like this:

JL: When was the last time you touched grass? No. No, look me in the eyes. Answer the question. When was. The last time. You touched grass? Okay, I'm staying here and I'm not going anywhere until you touch grass. Go on, do it. No. No, don't you dare! Come on. Just a little bit, it's okay. There you go! Wasn't so bad, was it? --------------------------- JC (staying in the distance, holding hands to his mouth and shouting): IS IT ENOUGH BASKING IN THE SUN????? JL (watching him from afar, also holding hands to his mouth and shouting): FORTY SECONS DOESN'T COUNT AS 'BASKING IN THE SUN'!!! JC: FUCK!!! ---------------------------

(Jiang Cheng and Jing Ling are enjoying dinner in silence, when suddenly--) JL: Name three good things that happened to you recently. JC: *grumbles* JL: Come on. JC: Uhh..... Okay, I..... Uuuuuuugh... I saw a cute dog yersteday! JL: Oh, that's a good one. I'll count this for two. JC: Aaaand I just named a good thing that counts for two? JL: That's two plus zero. Think harder, uncle.

--------------------------- JC: Sometimes I wish you flew away from the nest and left my old bones to rot. JL: You should have thought about it before taking care of me.

---------------------------

JL: From now on you will sleep at least six hours per night. JC: No. JL: It's either that or hugging Wei Wuxian next time you see him. JC: Six hours is good, I can do that. (Jiang Cheng turns Lotus Pier upside down to find a rat who keeps reporting to Jin Ling about his sleep schedule. He can't find that person. Of course he can't! They are ALL rats!)

[coldlygoing]

not true !!!!! he punched that guy who interrupted his mint juleps,.

no he didnt im lying

i get that karl urban is a beefcake but bones is not a fighter, ok? he's not violent, he's not getting into bar fights, he's not physically strong, he barely knows how to shoot a phaser, he's not working out at the gym, he's not punching people. it doesn't matter if bones is being played by deforest kelley or karl urban - he'd lose an arm wrestling match against an eight year old.

leonard mccoy is barely passable in a fight and fighting would be his last resort anyways. the man is a staunch pacifist. don't let his grumpy nature fool you into thinking otherwise.

some aos fics tend to write mccoy as a badass action hero-esque army doctor and that's just not him. leonard "just an old country doctor" mccoy is not john wicking it up in a crisis. he's gonna throw a wimpy punch that's gonna miss and then get his ass wiped. i'm sorry. it's just how he is and i love that about him. literally every other tos character throws down more than bones.

[madamechrissy]

f Took you Like a Shot (fratboy gojo x sorority reader) Here's one final preview!

Its Here

MDNI- teasing, nipple sucking, Gojo being an ass but sweet aha

He’s exhaling, breath hot against your lips, lips you’ve bitten to death in attempts to hold back, what’s glimmering to the surface.

“We hate each other, I don’t want that, not for this baby.”

You blink rapidly, your own hand slipping up his chest, feeling his heart race as it does. “I don’t want it either. I want them to have loving parents, even if we’re not together.”

Together.

Satoru’s never dated, he’s had women in and out of his bed since he turned eighteen, sometimes multiple girls in one night, chasing some feeling that he has never gotten, except with you. But even after that night, he never contemplated it, dating someone, being with them, was he worthy of that, especially with you? He couldn’t even give you his jacket.

Suddenly he takes it off, making you giggle when he wraps you with it. “It’s not cold inside the car, silly.”

“I suck, I’m an idiot and… I am not a gentleman, at all.”

“Satoru…” He shakes his head as you cut him off.

“No, it’s true. I was fucked up before an important day for us, and I couldn’t even give you my jacket tonight when I saw you freezing.” You pull it closer, when he’s brushing a hand under it, right on your waist, sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re doing fine all things considered, I wasn’t kidding. I am proud that you stepped up, it means a lot to me, okay?”

“Don’t be so nice.” You glare, making him moan softly at how sexy you always are when you do.

“You’re being nice, too.”

“I know. Everything I’m thinking, though baby?” He’s got his other hand entangled in your hair, and you can’t stop the soft cry from escaping your lips. “It's filthy.”

“Filthy, huh?” Your voice is just a breathy whisper, he can't stop thinking just how cute you are.

“You can’t begin to imagine what I’m thinking. Seeing these rock hard all fucking day, so full already.” He’s gripping your tits then, squishing one in his palm, and a thumb brushing over it, making your hips roll, pressing your eager cunt against the seat, dying for the friction, while he’s so close you can taste him. “They want to get sucked on, don’t they sweetheart?”

You nod wordlessly, earning Satoru’s moan as he presses you down on the seat then, his own jacket falling under you, hand pushing down your dress, revealing your pretty breasts to his view. You gasp when he brushes his thumb on them, bare, lowering his snowy head, and you’re frozen there, trying to remember all the years you hated him, he hated you.

Why can’t you think of anything but how bad you want him?

“Shouldn’t I take care of you, too? Don’t you ache baby?” He’s murmuring, mouth hovering, as he just barely brushes his lips on them.

“S-sensitive…” He presses another kiss, and your hands entangle in his silky locks, cunt so wet it’s making your panties sticky.

“Sensitive, then do you want me to make them feel good?”

“Should we… ah!” He’s lapping at your nipple with his talented tongue, swirling your nipple, and your moan fills the car, to the point you’re sure poor Kiyotaka could hear you, making you slam a hand on your mouth. Satoru chuckles, little shit that he is, lapping at the other one.

“You want it so bad, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Sorry this one is taking a lil bit- I have 6 ongoing projects bc I'm chaotic asf but it's comingg <3

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[shanastoryteller]

Happy Valentine's day! Untamed figure skating please!!?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5

Wen Qing does not allow her dancers to come and go at their own pleasure, to shirk off work and practice and make their own time. This is a competitive industry and she's a competitive employer and if they can't keep up, they get cut.

Except for Wei Wuxian. Apparently.

"You're coaching now?" she demands. "And doesn't the gallerie want a new piece next month?"

He makes a dismissive noise down the line. "They always want a new piece. I'll figure it out. Come on, it's A-Ling, was I really supposed to say no? It's fine, it's not like I don't know the choreography."

That's not the point. Everyone's always so much more motivated when Wei Wuxian is there to make them look bad. And for someone who's stayed staunchly out of the skating world for the past decade, returning to it now seems suspect.

Jin Ling makes sense. He's Wei Wuxian's beloved brat of a nephew and he'd do far more than be his coach for him.

It's the Lan boy that makes her suspect.

Lans always cause problems.